


bloom where you are planted

by peradi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Boys Kissing, Feelings, M/M, houseplants, voltron fanfic written by someone who has never seen voltron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 05:29:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peradi/pseuds/peradi
Summary: The boys go to buy houseplants, and Keith learns about the importance of sleep.





	bloom where you are planted

**Author's Note:**

> this is an incredibly belated bday present for a friend who loves voltron
> 
> v sorry that i am yet to watch this, but i hope i didn't massacre your show too much

_ \-- _

Keith tries to avoid sleeping, if he can. After all, there are far more important things to be done. There always have been. Training. Learning.

When he was living alone in the shack, sustained only by the distant call of a man-not-dead then, well, every moment spent slumbering was a moment  _ not _ searching for Shiro -- and thus a moment wasted. His eyes would itch, gumming themselves shut; his brain seemed to detach from his body, drifting away into the sky, the stars and the dark, seeking, seeking, always seeking,  _ he is not dead, I know it _ . That was madness, perhaps, but just because it was madness does not mean it was  _ wrong _ .

Shiro came back, after all. And all those nights, those long and hungry nights, those nights that left his gaze muddy and his thoughts strange and darting, like fish: moving sedately, then all at once in a flurry...yes, those nights were worth it.

Because Shiro was alive.  

And now Keith has carried the habit over: sleep is a waste. Besides, he gets at least four hours a night -- far more than he used to -- and his reflexes are still cat-sharp, and he can thrash Lance in the ring, and run the maze with (minimal) electrocution. He functions -- more than that, he  _ excels _ .

Besides. Shiro sleeps about the same. And Shiro is right in every way that matters, every way that there has ever been to be right. Cut Keith open and those words are carved right into the meat of his heart.

 

\--

 

One morning, aboard the Castle of Lions, and Lance is being a dick. Business as normal, of course; Keith is only half-listening, glugging back water and watching Shiro spar with Hunk. Shiro has stripped down to his vest, and his muscles move like serpents under his pale skin; drawn taut, like a bow, and then releasing the energy with the force and verve of a star. The stark line of his collarbone glows with sweat, and his white-black hair slops forward in artless disarray, just begging for someone to push it up and away from his eyes --

“--Keith?  _ Keith? _ Where you even listening?”

“Yup. Absolutely. And I totally agree, you really should go on a diet. Getting a bit flabby there.”

Okay, fat jokes are  _ not _ peak banter for him -- he’s off form a little. Still: it has the intended effect. Lance glowers, then pokes his tongue out.

“Mature.”

“I was  _ saying _ ,” says Lance, “that this place is a bit barren. We should do some decorating.”

“Ah. Is that poster of the half-clad woman in your room getting a little sticky?”

“That is --” Lance blushes, hard, all the way to the tips of his ears. “That is  _ art _ \-- “

“Yeah -- your relationship with Miss Betty Lou is very much  _ your _ business,” says Keith. He takes another sip from his water bottle; Lance sidles up beside him, grinning wide and conspiratol.

“And what about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean. I thought that you might want to run the maze. Or work with the Black Lion. And yet you’re here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Watching.”

“Watching…?” And Lance, god damn him, wiggles his eyebrows. In the ring, Shiro flips Hunk over his head, then hefts him to his feet, clapping his shoulder, murmuring some momentary praise -- Keith feels a pang, sharp and neat, just between his ribs, which is ridiculous. He is not jealous. It is right and proper that Shiro tutor them all, of course it is. He is their leader, after all, and all of them have much to learn from him.

“Watching Hunk.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Keith meets Lance’s eyes and stares. He has been told he could win a staring contest with a snake.

“Intently.” Lance is not a snake; he’s a crocodile, grinning broad and toothy, with a dance in his eyes that suggests that he knows something that he shouldn’t. Which is ridiculous, of course, because Lance knows nothing at all, literally nothing –

“Yes.” Keith’s voice is totally flat.

“Because you care about Hunk.”

“Like a brother.”

“You love him like a brother.”

“I value his companionship. Without him, Voltron would falter and fall.”

“Hm. And it’s not just because you like watching him fight.”

“I enjoy watching Hunk fight. I have much to learn from his technique.”

“You should get in the ring with him. Get all sweaty.”

“I will.”

The men stare at each other with equal intensity. The air between them sizzles.

“And then hose down afterwards. Wash him off. Get all the sweat off his bare…muscly…chest.” Lance is  _ leaning forwards, _ and that grin, that ridiculous toothy grin, that singsongs  _ I know something you don’t want me to _ , and all this time Keith has been spending staring at Lance he has not been watching Shiro and so he hasn’t been learning anything, not one thing.

That is the real tragedy of course. He has not been watching Shiro – for educational purposes. They have an evil empire to stop. He must learn all he can.

“Absolutely,” he says, folding his arms.

“--uh, guys?” Hunk’s voice edges out, far more tentative than normal. He and Shiro have stopped sparring and stand in the middle of the ring, regarding Lance and Keith with confusion (Shiro) and outright fear (Hunk). “I’m. I’m. I’m flattered, but –um.”

Keith is going to kill Lance.

He  _ is _ .

 

\--

 

Lance does have something resembling a point. The Castle of Lions is elegant and ancient and every inch the palace, but it does not feel homely, not in the slightest. It is okay for Allura. She has a wing equipped with things from her childhood and her culture. But Keith -- well, Keith’s home has never been so grand, and he feels vaguely ill-at-ease in his room, still; like he’s going to be charged if he scrapes the white floor, or like someone will come and berate him if he doesn’t make his bed with military precision.

(He has had several dreams of Shiro just doing that and --  _ anyway _ .)

And  _ yet _ it is a dumb, frivolous thing to concern oneself with, there are far more important things at stake at --

“We should go shopping,” says Shiro, “I do miss my home comforts. I used to have houseplants.” And he admits it like something shameful, a smile flashing swift and nervy across his chiselled, heroic,  _ friend it is a friend _ face. Friend. Brothers. Brotherly affection. Yes. Anyway. 

We should go shopping, says Shiro. And Keith will live and die for shopping, houseplants are critical to the future of humanity, how can one hope to defeat the Galra Empire unless one has a sufficient number of plants. Yes. 

 

\--

 

A convex window shows the endless expanse of space, stars scattered like diamonds on a velvet cloak, forming pink-blue nebulas, swirling in tight whirlpools; curves of distant galaxies, the flank of a celestial fox, furred with planets and moonglow. Below, the planet of Tilleturn, a place of unparalleled natural beauty, sapphire oceans giving way to lush green continent, the snowcapped north and south shimmering under the light of the Tilleturn Coruscation; a truly unique phenomenon, where natural gases interact with each other to form a permanent aurora borealis, wavering curtains of luminous pink-gold-green.

But Keith is not looking at that. 

Keith is looking at a plant. 

No. That’s not quite right. 

Keith is looking at Shiro, while Shiro looks at a plant. 

_ That _ is correct. 

The Tilleturn Mall -- terribly original name, that -- circles the planet, selling all the tourist tat you could ever want. It’s almost as if to offset the gorgeous landscape below, humanity decided to build the universe’s tackiest monument to consumerism. Thus, in the same way that Lance’s stupidity balances out Shrio’s innate leadership and talent, balance is maintained. 

Hunk and Pidge have gone in search of engineering toys; apparently, there is a new farming simulator that Pidge is keen to patch and ‘improve’ (“if I run the right programme, you can breed  _ unicorns _ ”) and Hunk is happy to tag along. Lance made several, loud comments about going in search of beautiful women to talk to -- until an actually pretty girl looked sideways at him; he then flushed all the way to his hairline, and slunk off after Pidge and Hunk. 

Which leaves Lance alone with Shiro. 

And the plants. 

“It’s called a variagated monstera sensitiva,” says Shiro, indicating the plant in front of him. The leaves are broad, velvet-green striped with ivory-white, glossy and strong. “They are  _ very _ rare, but I had one at the academy. Called her Lady. She must have died when I was captured; they need a lot of attention. Drama queens that tend to strop at the least issue.”

The shop is bathed in lavender light, plants displayed on white benches and shelves, arranged in a circle around a central hologram, which shifts and sways, forming first one botanical design and then the next, stems and flowers picked out in floating neon particles. A modern work of art --

But, of course, Keith is not looking at that either. 

“Drama queens,” echoes Keith. Shiro huffs laughter, leans towards the plant, and the motion means that his shoulder nudges against Keith’s shoulder. 

“Watch this,” says Shiro. He runs one finger -- the very point of his finger, of his hands criss-crossed with white scars, his neat-trimmed fingernails -- and his shoulder against Keith’s, and Keith swears he can feel Shiro’s skin through his flightsuit, warm and soft, and he can certainly smell him, astringent military soap and Allura’s floral shampoo that they’ve all somehow ended up using, and engine oil, sharp and tart, the bitter ashy fragrance of a Lion and -- 

\-- and where was he? Ah yes: Shrio runs the tip of one finger along the plant leaf, and the leaf  _ shivers _ all over, the edges rippling and then folding inwards, curling like paper. 

“See?” says Shiro. Keith leans forwards, ostensibly to get a look at the leaf. He has never really cared about plants before, but now he is happy to consider himself a budding botanist. 

“Yes,” says Keith. Shiro strokes the leaf again. It curls up further this time, into a tight green tube. 

“I used to talk to her,” says Shiro. 

“Oh.” Keith is not entirely sure how to respond to this. 

“To Lady. When I couldn’t sleep. I’ve always struggled with sleep -- it feels like my brain won’t turn off, like there is always something more important to be done. People to be led. Galaxies to save.”

“Sleep seems like a waste.”

“ _ Precisely _ .”

Keith touches one of the leaves. It quivers and curls, slowly, one-two- _ three _ . 

“It’s hard to grow plants aboard ship,” Shiro continues. “You have to water them in a proper schedule, ensure the lightning is correct -- or they die. You have to take care of them.”

More than a  _ little _ bit confused, Keith turns from the plant and --

Shiro is looking at him, his face -- oh, and Keith must be imagining this, his fevered brain simmering into overdrive -- but Shiro’s expression is  _ softer _ , somehow. 

“You have to sleep, Keith,” Shiro says. “Think of yourself as a houseplant -- with more complicated emotions, of course! And one that bickers with Lance. And pilots a Lion. The point is, you cannot neglect yourself the way you have been doing and expect yourself to grow. Look  _ after _ yourself.”

And then -- and Keith is dreaming, he must be -- Shiro leans forward and kisses his forehead. In a trance, moving as slow as syrup, Keith catches the front of Shiro’s flightsuit as the other man tries to pull away, pulls him back, plants a hard kiss on his slack, astonished mouth. 

For a clutch of frantic heartbeats Keith thinks that he has made a terrible, terrible mistake; but then Shiro reaches up, tangles his fingers in Keith’s hair and kisses him  _ back _ , Shiro is kissing him  _ back _ , Keith’s stomach turns inside out and the planet below, the starscapes outside, none of the beauty around him compares to the sheer giddy swooping sensation, it’s --

“Excuse me, gentlemen?”

They spring apart. The shop attendant blinks at them, her lilac hair curled around her dark, pretty face. 

“Would you like to purchase that plant?”

 

\--

 

They call her Duchess. By the end of the night, she has her leaves tight-curled -- probably due to the fact that Keith’s underwear has been slung over her stems. 

 


End file.
